The Reef Read online

  XII

  It was in the natural order of things that, on the way back to thehouse, their talk should have turned to the future.

  Anna was not eager to define it. She had an extraordinary sensitivenessto the impalpable elements of happiness, and as she walked at Darrow'sside her imagination flew back and forth, spinning luminous webs offeeling between herself and the scene about her. Every heightening ofemotion produced for her a new effusion of beauty in visible things, andwith it the sense that such moments should be lingered over and absorbedlike some unrenewable miracle. She understood Darrow's impatience to seetheir plans take shape. She knew it must be so, she would not have hadit otherwise; but to reach a point where she could fix her mind on hisappeal for dates and decisions was like trying to break her way throughthe silver tangle of an April wood.

  Darrow wished to use his diplomatic opportunities as a means of studyingcertain economic and social problems with which he presently hoped todeal in print; and with this in view he had asked for, and obtained, aSouth American appointment. Anna was ready to follow where he led, andnot reluctant to put new sights as well as new thoughts between herselfand her past. She had, in a direct way, only Effie and Effie's educationto consider; and there seemed, after due reflection, no reason why themost anxious regard for these should not be conciliated with the demandsof Darrow's career. Effie, it was evident, could be left to Madame deChantelle's care till the couple should have organized their life; andshe might even, as long as her future step-father's work retained himin distant posts, continue to divide her year between Givre and theantipodes.

  As for Owen, who had reached his legal majority two years before, andwas soon to attain the age fixed for the taking over of his paternalinheritance, the arrival of this date would reduce his step-mother'sresponsibility to a friendly concern for his welfare. This made for theprompt realization of Darrow's wishes, and there seemed no reason whythe marriage should not take place within the six weeks that remained ofhis leave.

  They passed out of the wood-walk into the open brightness of the garden.The noon sunlight sheeted with gold the bronze flanks of the polygonalyews. Chrysanthemums, russet, saffron and orange, glowed like theefflorescence of an enchanted forest; belts of red begonia purpling towine-colour ran like smouldering flame among the borders; and abovethis outspread tapestry the house extended its harmonious length, thesoberness of its lines softened to grace in the luminous misty air.

  Darrow stood still, and Anna felt that his glance was travelling fromher to the scene about them and then back to her face.

  "You're sure you're prepared to give up Givre? You look so made for eachother!"

  "Oh, Givre----" She broke off suddenly, feeling as if her too carelesstone had delivered all her past into his hands; and with one of herinstinctive movements of recoil she added: "When Owen marries I shallhave to give it up."

  "When Owen marries? That's looking some distance ahead! I want to betold that meanwhile you'll have no regrets."

  She hesitated. Why did he press her to uncover to him her poor starvedpast? A vague feeling of loyalty, a desire to spare what could nolonger harm her, made her answer evasively: "There will probably be no'meanwhile.' Owen may marry before long."

  She had not meant to touch on the subject, for her step-son had swornher to provisional secrecy; but since the shortness of Darrow's leavenecessitated a prompt adjustment of their own plans, it was, after all,inevitable that she should give him at least a hint of Owen's.

  "Owen marry? Why, he always seems like a faun in flannels! I hope he'sfound a dryad. There might easily be one left in these blue-and-goldwoods."

  "I can't tell you yet where he found his dryad, but she IS one, Ibelieve: at any rate she'll become the Givre woods better than I do.Only there may be difficulties----"

  "Well! At that age they're not always to be wished away."

  She hesitated. "Owen, at any rate, has made up his mind to overcomethem; and I've promised to see him through."

  She went on, after a moment's consideration, to explain that herstep-son's choice was, for various reasons, not likely to commend itselfto his grandmother. "She must be prepared for it, and I've promised todo the preparing. You know I always HAVE seen him through things, and herather counts on me now."

  She fancied that Darrow's exclamation had in it a faint note ofannoyance, and wondered if he again suspected her of seeking a pretextfor postponement.

  "But once Owen's future is settled, you won't, surely, for the sakeof what you call seeing him through, ask that I should go away againwithout you?" He drew her closer as they walked. "Owen will understand,if you don't. Since he's in the same case himself I'll throw myself onhis mercy. He'll see that I have the first claim on you; he won't evenwant you not to see it."

  "Owen sees everything: I'm not afraid of that. But his future isn'tsettled. He's very young to marry--too young, his grandmother is sure tothink--and the marriage he wants to make is not likely to convince herto the contrary."

  "You don't mean that it's like his first choice?"

  "Oh, no! But it's not what Madame de Chantelle would call a good match;it's not even what I call a wise one."

  "Yet you're backing him up?"

  "Yet I'm backing him up." She paused. "I wonder if you'll understand?What I've most wanted for him, and shall want for Effie, is thatthey shall always feel free to make their own mistakes, and never, ifpossible, be persuaded to make other people's. Even if Owen's marriageis a mistake, and has to be paid for, I believe he'll learn and grow inthe paying. Of course I can't make Madame de Chantelle see this; but Ican remind her that, with his character--his big rushes of impulse,his odd intervals of ebb and apathy--she may drive him into some worseblunder if she thwarts him now."

  "And you mean to break the news to her as soon as she comes back fromOuchy?"

  "As soon as I see my way to it. She knows the girl and likes her: that'sour hope. And yet it may, in the end, prove our danger, make it harderfor us all, when she learns the truth, than if Owen had chosen astranger. I can't tell you more till I've told her: I've promised Owennot to tell any one. All I ask you is to give me time, to give me a fewdays at any rate She's been wonderfully 'nice,' as she would call it,about you, and about the fact of my having soon to leave Givre; butthat, again, may make it harder for Owen. At any rate, you can see,can't you, how it makes me want to stand by him? You see, I couldn'tbear it if the least fraction of my happiness seemed to be stolen fromhis--as if it were a little scrap of happiness that had to be pieced outwith other people's!" She clasped her hands on Darrow's arm. "I wantour life to be like a house with all the windows lit: I'd like to stringlanterns from the roof and chimneys!"

  She ended with an inward tremor. All through her exposition and herappeal she had told herself that the moment could hardly have been lesswell chosen. In Darrow's place she would have felt, as he doubtlessdid, that her carefully developed argument was only the disguise of anhabitual indecision. It was the hour of all others when she would haveliked to affirm herself by brushing aside every obstacle to his wishes;yet it was only by opposing them that she could show the strength ofcharacter she wanted him to feel in her.

  But as she talked she began to see that Darrow's face gave back noreflection of her words, that he continued to wear the abstracted lookof a man who is not listening to what is said to him. It caused her aslight pang to discover that his thoughts could wander at such a moment;then, with a flush of joy she perceived the reason.

  In some undefinable way she had become aware, without turning herhead, that he was steeped in the sense of her nearness, absorbed incontemplating the details of her face and dress; and the discoverymade the words throng to her lips. She felt herself speak with ease,authority, conviction. She said to herself: "He doesn't care what Isay--it's enough that I say it--even if it's stupid he'll like me betterfor it..." She knew that every inflexion of her voice, every gesture,every characteristic of her person--its very defects, the fact that herforehead was too high, that her eyes w
ere not large enough, that herhands, though slender, were not small, and that the fingers did nottaper--she knew that these deficiencies were so many channels throughwhich her influence streamed to him; that she pleased him in spite ofthem, perhaps because of them; that he wanted her as she was, and not asshe would have liked to be; and for the first time she felt in her veinsthe security and lightness of happy love.

  They reached the court and walked under the limes toward the house. Thehall door stood wide, and through the windows opening on the terrace thesun slanted across the black and white floor, the faded tapestry chairs,and Darrow's travelling coat and cap, which lay among the cloaks andrugs piled on a bench against the wall.

  The sight of these garments, lying among her own wraps, gave her a senseof homely intimacy. It was as if her happiness came down from the skiesand took on the plain dress of daily things. At last she seemed to holdit in her hand.

  As they entered the hall her eye lit on an unstamped note conspicuouslyplaced on the table.

  "From Owen! He must have rushed off somewhere in the motor."

  She felt a secret stir of pleasure at the immediate inference that sheand Darrow would probably lunch alone. Then she opened the note andstared at it in wonder.

  "Dear," Owen wrote, "after what you said yesterday I can't wait anotherhour, and I'm off to Francheuil, to catch the Dijon express and travelback with them. Don't be frightened; I won't speak unless it's safe to.Trust me for that--but I had to go."

  She looked up slowly.

  "He's gone to Dijon to meet his grandmother. Oh, I hope I haven't made amistake!"

  "You? Why, what have you to do with his going to Dijon?"

  She hesitated. "The day before yesterday I told him, for the first time,that I meant to see him through, no matter what happened. And I'm afraidhe's lost his head, and will be imprudent and spoil things. You see, Ihadn't meant to say a word to him till I'd had time to prepare Madame deChantelle."

  She felt that Darrow was looking at her and reading her thoughts, andthe colour flew to her face. "Yes: it was when I heard you were comingthat I told him. I wanted him to feel as I felt...it seemed too unkindto make him wait!" Her hand was in his, and his arm rested for a momenton her shoulder.

  "It WOULD have been too unkind to make him wait."

  They moved side by side toward the stairs. Through the haze of blissenveloping her, Owen's affairs seemed curiously unimportant and remote.Nothing really mattered but this torrent of light in her veins. She puther foot on the lowest step, saying: "It's nearly luncheon time--I musttake off my hat..." and as she started up the stairs Darrow stood belowin the hall and watched her. But the distance between them did not makehim seem less near: it was as if his thoughts moved with her and touchedher like endearing hands.

  In her bedroom she shut the door and stood still, looking about her ina fit of dreamy wonder. Her feelings were unlike any she had ever known:richer, deeper, more complete. For the first time everything in her,from head to foot, seemed to be feeding the same full current ofsensation.

  She took off her hat and went to the dressing-table to smooth her hair.The pressure of the hat had flattened the dark strands on her forehead;her face was paler than usual, with shadows about the eyes. She felt apang of regret for the wasted years. "If I look like this today," shesaid to herself, "what will he think of me when I'm ill or worried?" Shebegan to run her fingers through her hair, rejoicing in its thickness;then she desisted and sat still, resting her chin on her hands.

  "I want him to see me as I am," she thought.

  Deeper than the deepest fibre of her vanity was the triumphant sensethat AS SHE WAS, with her flattened hair, her tired pallor, her thinsleeves a little tumbled by the weight of her jacket, he would like hereven better, feel her nearer, dearer, more desirable, than in all thesplendours she might put on for him. In the light of this discovery shestudied her face with a new intentness, seeing its defects as she hadnever seen them, yet seeing them through a kind of radiance, as thoughlove were a luminous medium into which she had been bodily plunged.

  She was glad now that she had confessed her doubts and her jealousy.She divined that a man in love may be flattered by such involuntarybetrayals, that there are moments when respect for his liberty appealsto him less than the inability to respect it: moments so propitiousthat a woman's very mistakes and indiscretions may help to establish herdominion. The sense of power she had been aware of in talking to Darrowcame back with ten-fold force. She felt like testing him by the mostfantastic exactions, and at the same moment she longed to humble herselfbefore him, to make herself the shadow and echo of his mood. She wantedto linger with him in a world of fancy and yet to walk at his side inthe world of fact. She wanted him to feel her power and yet to love herfor her ignorance and humility. She felt like a slave, and a goddess,and a girl in her teens...